The dogs rush en masse to my dad, as he’s the softie in the bunch. Mom and I don’t feed them from the table, but Dad can’t help himself. He makes them sit pretty and then takes a piece of crusty bread and feeds them dainty nibbles, each taking their turn with extreme manners.
I sit to Dad’s left, and Mom is to his right. When Carina brings me a glass of ice water, I take a moment to grip her hand in greeting. She’s been with the family for nearly twelve years and is as dear to me as she is to my parents.
“You need to eat with us more often,” Carina says as she takes my napkin before I can reach it, snapping it out and placing it on my lap. “You’re skin and bones.”
I snicker because I am most definitely not skin and bones. I’m tall but curvy, a body style I both embrace and accept as my own. I exercise habitually because I want to be healthy. What I don’t do is eat like a rabbit because I like food too much.
“You’re good for my ego,” I reply with a smile.
Carina clucks at me in disapproval because she knows I’m not taking her words seriously, patting me on the shoulder before she leaves the dining room.
Odin, Loki, and Freya all have their faces practically in Dad’s lap, now that they’ve tasted Carina’s fresh bread. Mom snaps her fingers and says, “Loki… Freya… down.”
The two dogs drop obediently, lying beside Dad’s chair, but they still look up at him longingly. Odin moves in closer, noting the competition has been cut down.
“Odin,” I say with warning, “down.”
He cuts a short glance at me, then looks to Dad wistfully. My dad, in turn, reaches for another piece of bread.
“Don’t you dare,” I growl, and my dad’s hand freezes.
“Odin… down.”
He looks at me, then to Dad, then to me again. We lock eyes, and he knows I mean business.
And with the speed of a turtle on sedatives, he lowers himself into a down position, looking at me the entire time in case I change my mind and release him from the command.
I don’t, and when he finally settles with a chuff of disappointment, we dig into our soup.
Our mealtime chatter is what it normally is—Dad fills us in on interesting cases happening with the firm, and he asks me and Mom for our opinions. While Mom no longer practices, she graduated first in her class at Yale and has an incredibly sharp mind. He likes my opinions because I have tremendous common sense. I did not graduate first, but I worked my ass off and still do.
Next, we have the requisite conversation whereby Dad wants me to consider coming back to Alston Law Group to carry on the legacy. I, in turn, remind him that I don’t enjoy that type of law.
Mom then adds the obligatory, “We’re proud of you no matter what you choose to do with your career.”
Dad then huffs with indignation. “Of course, I want you to do what you want. There’s no pressure here.”
And we all have a good laugh.
My parents are the absolute best because while the Alstons are heavy on tradition, heritage, and legacy, more than anything, they want me to be happy.
With all of that out of the way, my mom asks, “How are you doing, honey?”
She’s not talking about career, but about Brooks. My parents know about our friendship and have had Brooks in this home many times for meals and holiday gatherings. They knew of his struggles and liked him very much.
They know I loved him deeply.
“I’m okay. There are moments I think to call or text him, and then I remember he’s gone.”
“He was a special man,” my mom murmurs.
“The best,” my dad says in agreement.
They’re not wrong. Brooks was one in a million.
“I met his brother this week.”
Mom pauses while cutting a tomato. Dad still moves a forkful of salad to his mouth, but they both look at me. They know Brooks asked me to be his trustee, and since I don’t represent Stone, I’m not violating any attorney-client privilege. “Brooks left almost everything to him.”
My parents also know that Brooks and Stone were estranged. Over the past two years, they got to know Brooks well, and through conversations, it came out that he wasn’t close to either his parents or his brother.
My mother stabs half a tomato. “How did it go?”
“Odin wanted to eat him,” I say, figuring the easiest way to describe the meeting is to let them know my super chill, loving, and easygoing dog wanted blood.
Mom’s eyes widen. She’s more in tune with the dogs than my dad is.
“He’s got a lot of feelings stirred up,” I explain. Or at least, that’s my best guess as to his behavior. “Our first meeting, he knocked one of the Hepplewhites over and broke the leg.”
My mom gasps, hand going over her mouth. “That behemoth.”
“It broke cleanly at the base, and he’s getting it restored,” I rush to assure her. “But he was very reticent about having anything to do with Brooks or the estate.”
“That’s understandable,” my father says. He may be all business most of the time, but he’s also got a keen sense and respect for people’s feelings and emotions.
“What did he decide to do?” Mom asks.
“He took the estate. Lock, stock, and barrel. I notified Brooks’s parents yesterday, advising them of their share of the estate. I’ve already had my email and voicemail blown up by his dad. He’s convinced it’s some sort of mistake or malfeasance on Stone’s part.”
“Fighting over money is so gauche,” my mom murmurs.
I don’t disagree, but I don’t think regular rules apply to the Dumelin boys’ parents. Especially their dad who seems to labor under a sense of entitlement when it comes to his sons.
“He’s doing well with the Titans.” My dad has long been a season ticket holder to every professional team in Pittsburgh. While he doesn’t get to all the games like he wants to, the tickets always get used as he often gives them away to other attorneys in his firm or to family and friends.
“He is,” I agree. I watch the Titans religiously. Sports and Pittsburgh go hand in hand. While I never followed Stone’s career when he was with the Badgers, Brooks did and would tell me about him. He’s a great player who seems to have gotten stuck down in the minors.
Dad starts discussing more of the Titans’ roster. We talk mostly about Coen Highsmith, the star of the Titans whose play seems dimmed lately. But it’s early on, and frankly, Titans fans don’t have high expectations. We’re just happy to have a team in the process of rebuilding.
Mom and I spend the rest of the meal trying to stop Dad from feeding bits of prime rib to the dogs and discussing other things in my practice. Unbearably, my mother asks about my nonexistent love life.
When Odin and I leave for our home close to nine p.m., my belly and my heart are full.
CHAPTER 10
Stone
I’ve thoroughly explored Brooks’s condo—no, my condo—when I’ve been able. I took possession a week ago, but I had back-to-back away games in Phoenix and Houston. I leave in two days for New York as we have games with the Vipers and the Phantoms, so I’m enjoying some time off. We’ll have a light practice tomorrow, and of course I’ll work out, but in between, I intend to relax and settle into my new place.